My life is a strange affair
Never mine alone.
My life is tethered to those
Of mine own
Since the beginning of time
and those who tread
On this Earth
With me in the present.
Their frustration,
Their tribulations,
Their hurt,
I keenly feel
As if mine own.
Their helplessness mirrors mine,
As I watch potentials fade to dust.
Is this of my imagination,
a fevered hallucination,
an unwillingness to let go of the past
Cause holding on seems easier than letting go?
Cause then I will have no one else to blame.
Then the oppression I face is
Of my own design.
Then it is I, who has to change the narrative from
"Oh, he didn't allow me."
to
"I wasn't strong enough to fight for me."
to
"I let them take away my voice."
to
"I poisoned my mind."
to
"I was not strong enough."
